


Great And Unsearchable Things

by Moorishflower



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moorishflower/pseuds/Moorishflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's an angel supposed to do when he starts losing faith? Go pagan, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Great And Unsearchable Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [speccygeekgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/gifts).



  
The Kingdom of Heaven is made of light and gale winds and music, and it is simultaneously the most beautiful and the most terrifying place in existence – if it can even rightly be called a 'place.' There are no shapes, inasmuch as humans recognize things to be shapes. There are only great, arching lines, swirls of power, and the distant sound of the angelic choir raising their metaphysical voices in supplication to the glory of God.

In the very center of the Kingdom of Heaven, there is a garden.

It is not _the_ Garden, but, rather, it is a place for angels who have become weary to rest. It is a little piece of Earth in Heaven, full of lush, green grass and soft ferns, towering oaks and elm trees that dapple the ground with shade. For those angels who have actually been to Earth, there are variations: exotic palm trees surrounded by the thick, waxy flowers of bromeliads, or dry and fragrant sage interspersed with barrel cactuses and bright splashes of chuparosa flowers. It is different for everyone…much like Earth itself.

Gabriel loves the garden. He visits it whenever he has the time to. Considering the nature of his duties, he gets the opportunity to relax more often than the other archangels - as a messenger, he spreads the word about the ineffable might of God…but humans are still at the 'inventing reading and writing' stage, so he has some time to kill.

Gabriel plucks a leaf from the mint plant that's growing near his left hip, and then crushes it between fingers that are not truly his. It is not anything like taking a vessel on Earth – there is no need to clothe his Grace here, to shield it from human eyes. However, he prefers to shape himself into at least a basic form – he finds that it allows him to better interact with the environment.

A flutter of wings interrupts his contemplation of the distant scent of the mint leaves – angels perceive things differently, after all, and the plants in the garden, for all that they look real, are only vague shadows of the things themselves. Gabriel glances up, brushing his fingers off on the grass.

"Castiel," he greets. Of all the soldiers in Barachiel's garrison, he finds that he likes Castiel the best. There's something soft and somber about the angel, although he has hardened (as they all have) since Lucifer's Fall.

"Mighty Gabriel," Castiel responds, and moves as if to genuflect. Gabriel quickly raises his hand, waving the gesture away.

"Stop it," he says quickly, "you know how much I hate that shit. Sit down, Castiel. Take a load off."

"I have heard about the Christ child," Castiel says, instead of acknowledging Gabriel's words. "This is a great honor, to herald the birth of our Lord's Earthly incarnation."

"Yeah, Him and everyone else," Gabriel complains. Castiel hesitates, and then seats himself beside Gabriel on the grass, tucking his Grace into a vaguely human shape. Gabriel can just make out the faint curve of a frown.

"You are not glad?"

Gabriel pulls up a blade of crab grass and neatly curls it, then holds it to his mouth. He blows through his makeshift whistle, and it squeaks. He still hasn't quite gotten the hang of it. Castiel watches him, perplexed.

"I'm…tired," Gabriel says finally. "I'm tired of Michael and Raphael fighting. I'm tired of getting my orders from Zachariah, instead of God. And I'm just…tired of being _here_."

Castiel cocks his head. "Where else is there to be?"

"Earth, of course."

"You wish to go on sabbatical?"

Gabriel shrugs. He's been…contemplating this idea for a while, now, ever since Lucifer let his pride get the best of him. But this is the first time that he's articulated it, and it feels blasphemous, and a little exhilarating, to say, "I don't want to come back at all."

Castiel blinks serenely at him. That's another thing Gabriel likes about the angel: he's surprisingly good at not being judgmental.

"Things aren't the way they used to be," Gabriel sighs. "You don't remember, but…back when the humans were still a work in progress, everyone was all for the idea. New siblings, you know? It was exciting. But then God says 'love them above even Me,' and everything just…fell apart. I almost consider you lucky, Castiel. You've only ever known the fighting. You don't have anything to compare it to."

"I compare it to what you have told me," Castiel murmurs. "I ache for your loss, Brother. And though I did not know him, I ached for the loss of the Lightbringer, as well."

"Don't talk about him," Gabriel mutters. "If you never knew him, then don't talk about him. Lucifer was the best of us. He was the _purest_ of us. I don't…I don't know what happened."

Gabriel runs his hands back through his wings, scowling. His expressions are more finely articulated than Castiel's, but, then again, he's had more practice, and he's had more chances to observe humans.

"Don't tell Michael," he says softly. He refuses to consider the idea that he's _begging_. "Don't tell him I'm thinking about leaving. He'll try to stop me, and then he'll blame himself when he can't."

"You are greater than I shall ever be. If it is my secrecy that you desire, you have but to command me."

"I don't want to command you. I just want to _ask_ you. As a friend."

Castiel frowns again. "We do not have…friends."

Gabriel shrugs. "Well," he says, and slowly pushes himself up, brushing lemon thyme from the shape of his legs. "First time for everything."

He leaves the garden, and Castiel, and _Heaven_, behind.

~

Gabriel starts out small, not so much a deity as a demigod, carefully cloaking his Grace beneath layer upon layer of power borrowed from the forces that helped God to shape the world. He fetches olive oil for Artemis, and covers his eyes when he catches her bathing in a spring; he procures fresh clay for Oduduwa; he restrings Aonghus' harp and even manages to refrain from rolling his eyes when the god asks his opinion on his latest song.

And then he meets Vali.

Vali is mad and lost and broken in ways that Gabriel cannot even comprehend – he wanders into the court of Zeus one day, shoulders draped with ragged wolf skin and dripping blood onto the cold floor, and while the other gods are disgusted, Gabriel is intrigued.

Considering his status as Celestial Handyman, it's no surprise that he's asked to lead the poor, crazed son of a bitch away from Greece altogether. Gabriel has discovered that pagan gods are territorial, and Vali, with his light hair and his pale eyes, is very obviously not one of theirs.

The wolf skin is so crusted with blood and filth that Gabriel winces when he sees it rub against Vali's neck and shoulders. He leads the man to a river, amongst a copse of trees far away from the sharp eyes of Artemis, and helps him to cool his feet in the water.

"My father is in pain," Vali says softly. "My brother is dead."

"I know the feeling," Gabriel says, though it's almost the opposite, for him. He washes the blood from Vali's shoulders, carefully peeling back some of the tattered fur, only to find that parts of it are fused with Vali's flesh. He washes around the sinew-thin flaps of fat and tissue, until the blood that runs down into the river is fresh, bright red, and clear of grime.

"Pity poor Lokasson," Vali laments. Gabriel has found that gods are pretty big on the whole 'lamenting' thing. "For he is a kinslayer, unfit to bear his father's name."

Gabriel carefully lays the flap of wolf skin back down. "Your father is Loki?"

Vali's shoulders tense, and he plunges his hands into the icy water of the river. The sharp, fox-clever angles of his face are all Gabriel really needs for confirmation.

~

Castiel finds him only a few hours later, still sitting by the bloodstain upon the shore of the river. The air smells uncomfortably like wolves and giants.

"I have been searching for you," Castiel says.

"I know," Gabriel answers. "I felt it."

"And yet you never answered?"

Gabriel shrugs. "Didn't think it was too important if Michael only sent you. If God wants me to come back, tell Him to come and get me Himself."

Castiel sinks to the ground, neatly folding his legs up under himself. He has taken a female vessel, a young woman with an olive complexion and dark hair twisted back into a thick braid. Her face is delicate and somber, and Castiel's Grace peers out at Gabriel through it.

"Michael did not send me," Castiel says softly. Gabriel tilts his head to the side in question. "I have come here of my own volition."

Gabriel plucks up a reed from the river's bank, rolling it between his palms. Pan has been trying to teach him how to make a flute out of grass, but so far Gabriel has been proving himself ill suited to the task of crafting anything that requires a delicate touch. Even Pan's hoary hands are more adroit than Gabriel's.

"You never told him," Gabriel guesses, and Castiel inclines his head. "Thank you."

"I have given your words some thought," Castiel murmurs. "I have been considering…friendship. And I have determined that it is not necessary to serve the Lord."

Gabriel crumples the reed between his fingers; his palms smell like green, growing things, thick and heady.

"However," Castiel continues, "it is not…harmful. It is distracting, at times, but I have decided that, should you wish to call me your friend, I will not object."

"Thanks, Castiel," Gabriel says. He tries to keep the bite of sarcasm in his voice to a minimum. "That just fills me to the _brim_ with warm, fuzzy feelings."

Castiel, he obviously hasn't spent enough time around humans to master the fine art of inflection, beams at him. Not with his borrowed face, but with the whole of him, his Grace reflecting off the surface of the river like wings of light.

They sit in silence, watching the passage of the water, the wind ruffling through the trees. Unwary insects dip down to sip from the river, and fish immediately dart up to devour them. There's a sort of cleverness to fish, Gabriel thinks. They aren't necessarily _smart_, but they know how to survive. He can admire that.

"I think I'm going to go pagan," Gabriel muses, breaking the silence. Castiel stares at him, uncomprehending.

"You are already keeping company with gods other than our Father," he reminds gently.

"No, I mean…_really_ go pagan. I think I want to try being a god for a while."

"That is blasphemy," Castiel says. His vessel's face is carefully neutral, closed off. But that might just be his inability to understand facial expressions in the first place.

"It's blasphemy if I worship other gods," Gabriel corrects. "But I'm not going to be worshipping anyone. I just want to _try_ it. And Michael will never figure out where to look, if I do this. I _know_ he's trying to find me, so don't even deny it."

Castiel nods mutely. It's all the answer that Gabriel needs.

"I hear there's an opening further north," he says slowly. "How much you want to bet that I can pull this off?"

"I will not gamble with you," Castiel says. "I know full well that you are capable of more than you tell others."

Damn straight, he is. Gabriel watches the fish flick their silvery tails beneath the surface of the water, and a plan starts to form in his mind.

~

Convincing the Norse gods that he's Loki is easier than Gabriel had ever thought it would be – the god himself is a shapeshifter, so Gabriel probably should have expected it. What's harder is convincing Odin One-Eye that his (largely faked) apologies are sincere, and that he doesn't need to be chained back up. As far as Gabriel knows, Loki and his wife are still trapped together, and he imagines it would be awkward if he were frog-marched down to that forsaken rock and _Loki was still there_. Might be a little hard to explain.

So he brings Baldr back to life. After Loki was such an asshole about it, it's pretty much the least he can do, and his Grace, for whatever reason, has not been diminished by his time away from Heaven – bringing a god back is easier than bringing back, say, a human. There's a remnant of Baldr's power that has been left behind, and all Gabriel needs to do is piece it back together.

Things get better, after that. He stops feeling as though Michael is constantly looming over his shoulder, and while the other gods aren't necessarily _fond_ of him, he's tolerated by them, and worshipped by a load of humans who are into leaving him huge piles of delicious food.

He never once thinks of himself as a god. It's the only way he can remind himself that this isn't blasphemy. No matter how pissed off he is at his Father for leaving them, it still isn't blasphemy.

Castiel visits him only once. He strides into Gabriel's empty hall without knocking, without allowing himself to be announced. He's taken a male vessel, this time – it suits him better, with its pale brown hair and bright blue eyes. Gabriel's vessel is still only temporary, a crafted shell, and his Grace sometimes bleeds out of it, and needs to be heavily concealed. He has looked into the future, and his true vessel will not be born for a thousand years or more. Sometimes he envies Castiel's ability to inhabit the bodies of whoever asks for it.

"Loki Laufreyjarson," Castiel says solemnly. Gabriel, in response, swings his legs over the arm of his chair, draping himself over it, because that's what Loki would do. He's surprised that Castiel is going along with his idea – he can only imagine how it pains the angel to refer to Gabriel with a name that is not his own. "I have come to request an audience."

Gabriel rolls his shoulders, and then idly snaps his fingers. A wall of silence falls down around his hall – the other gods know better than to eavesdrop upon him (as he has told them before, he brought Baldr back and he can damn well kill him off again), but better safe than sorry. He has no idea whether Michael is keeping an eye on Castiel, and Gabriel doesn't want to find out the hard way.

"It's safe to speak," Gabriel says, and some of the tension bleeds from the set of Castiel's shoulders. "Love the vessel, by the way. Masculinity definitely suits you."

Castiel stares at him in a way that manages to convey his discomfort with the subject – gender takes some time to get used to, and Castiel has only taken vessels a handful of times. He likely has yet to realize all the differences between inhabiting a male body and inhabiting a female one. He'll learn, Gabriel is guessing. He'll learn soon enough.

Gabriel snaps his fingers again, manifesting a chair directly in front of his own, and then gestures for Castiel to sit down, which he does without hesitation. He folds his hands neatly in his lap, silently studying Gabriel's hall. When he speaks, he does not raise his eyes, but rather addresses an area somewhere to the left of Gabriel's shoulder.

"I was concerned," Castiel says. "I have not heard from you in some time."

"Well, yeah." Gabriel shrugs. "Part of the whole 'disguising myself as a god' deal. The less you hear about me, the better I'm doing…Or, I should say, the more you hear about _Loki_. I doubt Michael has any interest in the pagans."

"He has given up," Castiel murmurs. "Michael is not what he once was. Zachariah has assumed many of his duties, including searching for you. But you are no longer a priority."

"I hesitate to ask what _is_ a priority, with Zachariah."

Castiel bows his head, perhaps thoughtful, or perhaps ashamed. "The true vessels of Michael and Lucifer are being discussed at length. There has been some need to interfere with the bloodlines."

"What, Cain and Abel's children not doing their duties? Shame on them." To be quite honest, though, Gabriel doesn't care. The prophecy of Lucifer's release from Hell has been floating around for several hundred years, now, apparently put forth by God Himself, but Gabriel doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about this marvelous little blue-green ball being consumed by his brother's cold rage.

"Events shall occur as they are meant to occur," Castiel intones. "The prophecy shall be fulfilled."

"Yeah, forgive me if I can't muster up any excitement for the end of humanity," Gabriel says dryly. "I've kinda gotten used to these mud monkeys, so I'm not too thrilled about their _impending demise_."

"Nor am I," Castiel says, and Gabriel freezes.

"Excuse me?"

"It is God's will," Castiel says hastily. "It shall be done. However, I do not…I do not _understand_ it. I realize that my understanding is not required, and yet…"

"It's bothering you," Gabriel finishes softly. "Welcome to my life, little brother."

Castiel doesn't say anything else, and they sit in silence for almost two hours, considering the importance of the words that have been spoken. When Castiel gets up to leave, Gabriel does not try and stop him.

It's best if he tries to figure it out on his own.

~

Years pass. Gabriel loses track of them, as do many of the old gods – Baldr continues to be an asshole (Gabriel probably hasn't been endearing himself by hiding dead fish in Breidablik), Odin wavers between hostile and cautiously thankful, and some chick named Angrboda shows up and all but rips away Gabriel's virginity, so that's pretty cool. Although trying to piece together how he should know her (ex-girlfriend? wife? fuck-buddy?) afterwards is sort of awkward…But she seems satisfied when she leaves, so Gabriel gives himself a point in good faith.

Things happen. The world _changes_. The old gods fade away – no one worships Freyr and Freyja anymore, no one leaves offerings at Thor's altar. Gabriel is glad that his Father is finally getting some decent PR, but the other gods expect him to be angry – and rightfully so. They are waning, while the power of Heaven grows exponentially stronger.

Gabriel finds it easier to just leave. He abandons his hall, leaves one last dead salmon beneath Baldr's chair, and then heads south, towards a warmer climate.

Africa is his first stop – he's heard interesting stories about the tribal gods, stories that paint them in a distinctly unflattering, but undeniably happy, light. And if there's anything that Gabriel is interested in, these days, it's the pursuit of happiness. Kalulu and Eshu welcome him with open arms – a Trickster is a Trickster, they say, regardless of where it comes from.

Anansi studies him with cold, glassy eyes, and then teaches Gabriel how to kill.

Gabriel has laid low the bodies of his enemies – he's a messenger, but every angel was called upon to act as a warrior when Lucifer first gathered his armies. Gabriel is as much a kinslayer as poor, lost Vali, but he has never killed a _human_ before. In all the years he has posed as Loki, it's just…never come up.

And Anansi does not take 'no' for an answer. He teaches Gabriel the difference between justice and vengeance (both are acceptable, as far as the Old Spider is concerned), and then the difference between needful death, and death that is wasteful.

"A Trickster," Anansi says, "does not travel his land taking the lives of babes, nor the lives of innocent mothers. It is not from the death itself that we take our fun, but the death's circumstances. For a man who has lain with the wives of his neighbors, it is appropriate that he next lay with a woman of your own design. Perhaps one that devours him, or one that becomes some manner of unsavory beast. You are limited only by your imagination."

And then Anansi blinks (sometimes he has two eyes, like a human, but sometimes Gabriel catches a glimpse of him, and he has hundreds), and focuses on Gabriel's face. "Unless you have no imagination at all. Is this true of you, son of Yahweh?"

And, because Gabriel's nothing if not determined, he proves Anansi wrong the first chance he gets: by getting the god drunk and convincing him to sleep with a donkey.

~

The core of the world shakes the day that John Winchester is born. Gabriel feels it deep down in his bones, and knows that it's finally time to leave the old world for good. He says goodbye to Eshu, to Nanabozho, to Baron Samedi and Hermes. He does not say goodbye to Anansi – spiders have their webs connected to all things, and Gabriel doesn't doubt that they will meet again, someday. There is no need for farewells when their paths will inevitably cross again.

And then Gabriel unfurls his wings, and moves to America.

He's been there before, of course. What open-minded and upstanding god, spirit, or elemental hasn't? America is _the_ place to be for the young and hip, and Gabriel isn't surprised when he sees, unbeknownst to the humans, large numbers of elves, dwarves, and sprites moving unnoticed through streets and homes.

What _does_ surprise him is the sheer amount of demons he sees, both corporeal and non. He avoids them like a fifteenth century peasant might avoid the plague, skirting around the larger cities until he's absolutely certain that he's cloaked his Grace as well as he ever will.

It's 1954, and America is the crown jewel in the long and illustrious string of empires that Gabriel has seen fall like lines of dominoes – the burgeoning seed of rock and roll has just begun to take root, and, in roughly six years, Vietnam will become a hotbed of controversy, and John Winchester will grow to manhood with the shadow of war looming over his head. He will turn eighteen with a rifle in his hands and gunfire pounding in his ears, and his experiences will shape him into the man that Heaven requires him to be.

But for now, he is a newborn, cradled in soft blue blankets, watched over by the diligent nurses of Harrison County Hospital.

Gabriel leaves; he hasn't trusted himself around infants since the Christ child was born, and he isn't about to start now, not when he can feel the ominous rumbling of Heaven deep down inside the bones of his vessel. In only a handful of months, Mary Campbell will be born, and then, perhaps, with Heaven's attention focused on their eventual union, Gabriel will be able to relax.

In the meantime, he lays low, keeping one eye turned to the sky at all times. When John Winchester turns eight, his parents move to Lawrence, Kansas – Deanna and Samuel Campbell soon follow, pulled by a force that they don't understand, and cannot deny. Gabriel spends a few years kicking around the country, watching the war in Vietnam grow from a mistake to a clusterfuck and, by the time John ships himself off with the Marines, Gabriel's discovered that, in America, things are a little bit different.

In America, there are loads of people who don't _expect_ comeuppance. No one puts out saucers of milk to appease the household brownies, no one hangs sprigs of sage above their doorways to ward off evil spirits…There are thousands of people living without any expectation of being chastised for _how_ they live. Gabriel's seen it happening elsewhere, of course, but here it's almost happening in double-time.

Needless to say, Gabriel lets loose and has some _fun_. By the time John Winchester returns from the war, he's founded his own magazine (and is pleased to note that it continues to print all the way into the new millennium), has convinced no fewer than a hundred people that Abraham Lincoln was actually a woman, and has seen The Who in concert.

When John Winchester makes an honest woman out of Mary Campbell, Gabriel attends the wedding, disguised as a caterer. He isn't surprised when he spots the tell-tale trails of Castiel's Grace, darting amongst the small crowd – without a vessel, Castiel is reduced to merely a shadow of himself, forced into secrecy by his very nature. They watch John kiss his blushing bride, the both of them uncomfortably aware of what Mary will go through over the next several years.

"I'll save you a fruit tart," Gabriel promises, and Castiel's Grace brushes against his arm. "And a canapé, if you want it."

Castiel does not respond – he drifts silently away, exuding an air of discontent. Gabriel absently eats one of the lemon tarts, and makes the decision not to follow him.

~

Gabriel isn't there when Dean Winchester is born. As an archangel, as a _herald_, the shock of being in the same general area as such an important and pre-ordained birth would shake him loose of his carefully constructed disguise. The urge to sing the praises of Heaven's chosen is hardwired into him, like a rooster crowing at dawn, and he wouldn't be able to help himself.

Castiel is there, though. Amorphous and silent, Castiel is there to watch the birth of the most important bloodline since Christ himself – Dean Winchester is the man that is going to help end the world as they know it.

Gabriel is incapable of feeling sick, but he thinks that phrase, right there…_the end of the world_. That's enough to make him think he kind of _wants_ to feel sick. Like it will somehow make him feel better if he gets it out of his system.

Gabriel finds a quiet, nearly empty park to wait in, and Castiel comes to him afterwards, wrapped up tight in the body of a six year-old boy. The child's bright blue eyes and dark, feathered hair are so perfect, so _right_, that Gabriel realizes that this must be Castiel's vessel. Lesser angels can possess _any_ person of faith when they have consent, but there are certain lineages that lend themselves more fully to the act of hosting one of God's warriors. Castiel must have found one, and claimed it as his own.

"People are going to give me dirty looks," Gabriel complains, popping his sucker out of his mouth and absently twirling it. "Grown man like myself hanging out with jailbait like you."

Castiel tilts his head.

"Nevermind," Gabriel says, waving Castiel's confused expression away. "So. How'd it go?"

"I have never presided over a birth before," Castiel says thoughtfully. "Let alone one of such importance. It was…stressful."

"Tell me about it. All the blood and the oozing and the screaming…Dunno why He didn't just have humans reproduce asexually. Would have been a lot easier. A lot less fun, but…easier."

"God's will is not to be questioned," Castiel chastises, and Gabriel snorts in response. Maybe he's gone native, but it feels odd, having this conversation with a child. With something that _looks_ like a child. But all Gabriel has to do is tilt his head at the right angle and he can see the solar flare of Castiel's wings, tucked up neatly inside the fragile human skin. The eyes that watch him are thousands of years old, fathomless and still as a pond in July.

"You should have been there, not I." Castiel doesn't sound accusing, which is good, but he doesn't sound _happy_, either. Then again, he rarely sounds happy. Or sad. More often than not, he just seems…frustrated. Lonely.

Gabriel knows the feeling.

"I'm not in that business anymore," Gabriel reminds him. "I've told you. If God wants me back, then He'll have to come and get me Himself."

"Perhaps he will," Castiel murmurs. "You are…unquantifiable. I know my role, as do Michael, and Zachariah. All of Heaven is prepared to play its part. You, however, are an anomaly. No prophet has placed before you a set path to follow, and that is…disturbing."

"I'm the wild card. That's just _peachy_."

"This has nothing to do with fruit."

Gabriel sighs. "It's an expression, little bro. It means Zachariah is going to want me to be Heaven's hidden ace, and I don't want to be. I just…"

He glances up at the boundless sky, azure blue and so achingly beautiful that it takes Gabriel's breath away. Even with the mounting pollution, the noise of traffic and the crime, the hate, the hurt…Gabriel wouldn't change this tiny, troubled bauble of a planet for all the accolades in Heaven.

"I just want things to stay the same," he finishes. "The way they are _right now_. Forever."

"Nothing stays the same," Castiel says. "Not even the planet itself."

"Not even _you_," Gabriel counters.

Castiel blinks solemnly at him, and does not respond.

~

Gabriel first meets Sam and Dean Winchester when the brothers are twenty-four and twenty-eight, respectively, and he realizes with sudden clarity (the sort that's usually reserved for receiving revelation) that Castiel was right: nothing stays the same. Not the Winchesters, not angels, not even Heaven. The Winchesters have grown from tiny, wide-eyed toddlers into broad-shouldered men, men who are going to either end the world or save it, depending on the choices that they make.

That's what it all comes down to, essentially. Choice. And Gabriel can see (even though he isn't sure how) that he can't stay in the waiting room of life forever. He might not have a prophesized role to play, but he has to do _something_.

_I'm so tired. I just want the fighting to stop._

It's been thousands of years since he first articulated that thought, sitting in the Garden beside Castiel and thinking about leaving Heaven forever. He wonders if it's coincidence that he's thinking about it now.

_Fuck it,_ he thinks, and squares his shoulders, and conjures up a chainsaw-wielding serial killer.

It doesn't matter if he lacks a path to follow. Gabriel's just going to do what feels _right_.


End file.
